Just Before Sunrise

Chuck has had insomnia lately... something I battle with on a regular basis (also known as being a nightowl). So, this week's challenge is to write a story about insomnia... this was fun!

enjoy!

It’s not easy being a person who lives on just four hours of sleep a night. I haven’t been able to sleep on any more than that for over twenty years – and no matter what the doctors have tried, they can’t seem to pin point it.

But after going to a neurologist, they think they’ll be able to help me have a full-night’s sleep. So, tonight is my last sleepless night ever… well, I hope.

“Now, there’s no promises that this will work. But it’s worth a try, okay?” the youngish doctor smiled, “And after all these years of not being able to sleep, I’m sure we’ll be able to pinpoint exactly why you’re not able to sleep through a new method of going back through into your primitive brain; which through my research holds your oldest memories from anything that might be holding you back.”

“Doc, I’m willing to try anything to get some sleep.” I sigh, “It’s not that I don’t want to sleep, it’s just that I think I’m missing out on some good health benefits from a good night’s sleep.”

He smiled, “And you are.” He rose from his desk, “Now, come on, we’re ready if you are.”

Artificial sleep isn’t the same as real sleep. But they had to put me under Twilight; this is where you’re not completely under, but can be woken easily and you recover better and faster than you would if they put you under completely – besides, they needed my brain to be working of its own accord and not off in la-la land.

I woke in recovery in restraints, “What the hell?”

A cop turned, “Shut up.”

“I don’t understand.” I said, “I just woke from a brain operation. I need to know the results. Can they fix my insomnia?”

The cop ignored me.

Another doctor approached my cubical, looked at me, referred to his file and turned to another cop, whispering in his ear, then turned back to me, “Do you remember anything from when you went under Twilight?”

“No. I went to sleep, and woke up in these things.” I looked at the restraints, “I don’t understand why I’m under guard for.”

The doctor nodded curtly, “Okay. Your neurosurgeon is dead.”

“What?”

“You killed him.”

“I was asleep.”

“No… you weren’t.” he said pulling up a metal stool and sitting on it, “You were put under Twilight. But you didn’t stay there. You woke up and became another person… you…” he looked down for a moment before continuing, “You…” his eyes were filled with tears as he tried to talk, but couldn’t.

The policeman touched his shoulder, “I’ll do it.” He whispered, “It’s okay.”

“He stood no chance.” He handed the folder to the cop as he rose and left the room.

The cop turned and looked at me as he dumped the folder onto the table at the end of my bed, “You seriously have no idea what you did?”

“No… like I said, I was sleeping.” I glanced at the other cop who had his back to me, but his head was down, looking at his shoes. My eyes moved back to the first cop at the foot of the bed.

“Okay.” He sighed, “You don’t sleep because when you do, you become another person.”

“We all do.” I said, “In our dreams… but I don’t dream because I don’t get that far into my sleep cycle; that’s what we were trying to fix.”

He nodded, “I understand this. But when they were looking at your primitive brain to find out what was holding you back, they unintentionally let somebody out.”

My gut turned cool, “What?”

He looked over at me and took a step back, “Um… what time is it?” he glanced down to his watch and started to sweat as he grabbed the folder and moved toward the door, gesturing to the guard next to me, “It’s time to leave.”

“We were told to guard him.” He turned and looked at me, then back away, “What the…!”

As the door slammed shut, I looked up at the clock above it to find it said 4:45am – just before sunrise. I was so damned tired. It was time for me to sleep. My breathing slowed down and I thankfully felt as though I was going to get some rest; but I wondered why they were so scared of me when I was just tired.

Sirens wailed as I ran along the river’s edge in the darkness of the night, as the sun’s last glimmer vanished below the horizon. The delicious coppery taste of blood lined my mouth and stained my hands, darkening my fingernails to an almost blackened state.

But I felt as though I was so filled with energy – with go-go juice – that I couldn’t be stopped, even if I wanted to!

The reflection of a shop window freaked me out and I stopped and looked at it…

“No… that can’t be me.” I stared into a mirror which was part of a display inside and found a distorted, tortured scarlet face staring back. The clothes I had taken such pride in choosing the day before – expensive clothes – were shredded and hanging from my body, soaked in blood, “Oh my god… what did they do to me?”

“Who?” a voice asked behind me.

I turned and found three cops with rifles leveled at me, “What happened?” turning back to the mirror, I watched tears leave clean streaks down my face as it – and my whole body – changed into the form I was so accustomed to, “Who did they let out?” but I knew who as I spoke… and didn’t want to know anymore, “Kill me. Please.”

“No.” a man said to my right, with a slight German accent, “You are somebody of interest to us. We wanted to bring you in alive.”

“You know who I am?”

“Of course we do, Dr Jekyll. It’s Mr Hyde everyone keeps on meeting on a rather unscheduled basis.” The man said as he walked from behind the wall of armed police.

“And who the hell are you?”

“I’m Abraham Van Helsing.” He smiled, “I may be old, but I’ve been searching for you for a very long time.”

“How are you still here?”

He smiled as he approached me, “That, my friend, is a very long story. One I will share with you on the way to our final destination.”

The Missing Body

Chuck has got us seeding ideas. This week he gave us a choice of 5 he's chosen or we could go onto the Randomise site... I thought to be lazy and pick one from his selection. I chose #2: A Dead Body Goes Missing.

Man, did I have fun with this or what?

enjoy.




I’ve been waiting for her for a day or so and she hasn’t shown up at the meeting point. I went back to where the party was, and the police have done a great job cleaning up the mess there… including taking away any of the bodies left there.

This include hers – damn!

This means she’s in the morgue and I have to go and get her before they cut into her.

I find my way there and try to look like I work there. I’m not sure if I’m succeeding – but I get past a few security personnel and a couple of doctors – then I find a room full of bodies with toe tags and all covered over.

None of them make me hungry – they’ve all been dead for hours and are completely finished. But I can smell a new one’s come in and the coroner is looking her over.

Donning the lab coat and grabbing a clipboard, I walk into the next room where the man is starting to examine my girl on the slab. She’s been stripped down, bathed and readied for an autopsy.

He looks over, startled that somebody’s come in, “Oh, hi! You must the new guy.” His mask shifts as he smiles behind it.

“Yeah, the new guy. Paulie.” I lie, and almost put my hand out to be shaken and realise the man is wearing gloves, so I wave instead, “She new?”

“Yeah, came in with the massacre at the university across town.” He puts down the scalpel and picks up her clipboard as I put mine down on his desk, “Here are her details, so you’re up to speed. I won’t start until you’ve read it.”

I open the metal board upwards and look at her name, age, address, hair colour, eye colour, blood type… all of this I knew because I’ve been her friend for years. Only recently have I asked Celine if she wanted to join me in my world – and she said yes. But changing her was more difficult than I thought.

We should have done it in the privacy of my house – or hers – not at the university; where everything could go wrong…

…and did.

What happened there wasn’t my fault. I forgot about the ravenous hunger after the change and couldn’t control her as she destroyed almost every human in sight at the party across from her dorm. I was foolish; and my sire ordered me to do something about her; as she’s turned rogue – and they’re dangerous to the public.

I turn to the coroner to find Celine awake and standing behind him smiling. The metal clipboard clatters to the desk with the others there as I grab the man and pull him behind me, “Celine, you don’t want to be killing anymore.”

“But I checked her pulse, she’s dead.” He whispers.

“Yeah, she doesn’t have a pulse – just like I don’t have one.” I mumble.

“What? You don’t have what?” he asks.

Ignoring him, I concentrate on her, “Celine, you’re in danger… look around at this place. They were going to cut you open and kill you.”

Her eyes wonder around at the cold slab, the doors, the hygienic tools and the bright overhead lights, “This is a morgue… what the fuck am I doing here?”

“When you were knocked out at the party, they thought you were dead, and brought you here.” I say, “Remember when I said that if we were ever separated to meet me in the main quad outside the library? Well, you didn’t show, and I went back to find they had cleaned out the place.”

“They?”

“The police.” I reply, “And honey, you killed them all… all of those people at the party.”

“Who knocked me out?”

“I did… I forgot about the hunger you feel after the change. I tried to help you, but you were surrounded by food.” I can smell the coroner’s fear intensify, “I really need to get you out of here.”

She nods, “The smell of the dead is strong here – and he stinks of the dead.”

I put out my hand, “Come on, we’ll get the hell out of here.”

After Celine gets dressed and takes off her toe tag, I wonder what to do with the coroner. She suggests killing him, I’m against that; seeing he’s just doing his job.

“I don’t want any trouble, I’ll give you ten minutes and pull the alarm.” He says, “After all, you both let me live.”

She smiles, “For now…”

I grab her hand and pull her out of the place, down the back halls – which are now empty – and outside into the cold night air; but not for long. I can hear the dawn coming. We have to find a place to hide for the day.

This isn’t how I wanted her first day as a vampire to be.

As we are walking back to my place, I notice a television reports saying that a body has gone missing from the morgue. The coroner is being interviewed by a reporter just outside the building and he says: ‘I’m not sure where it went. I stepped outside for a moment to take a phone call, when I returned it was gone from the slab. I’m afraid that creepier things have happened at the morgue.’

“Creepier things than us?” Celine whispers in my ear as a wad of newspapers slaps onto the curb nearby. On the front, the headlines read: ‘Body Missing From the Morgue: The Undead Walk Amongst Us!’

I kneel down and undo the strap from around the pile, grabbing the top one, as the newspaper man comes out, paying him before I leave, “Jeez, this got out quickly.”

“What do you mean?” she smiles.

Celine didn’t get it… she just didn’t understand what she had done and who she was to the public right now. As she turns the corner, I pull a large knife I had grabbed on the way out of the coroner’s rooms out of my jacket pocket and…

I step out of my shower as the news on the television interrupts a movie I had turned on when I arrived home.

“It’s been a gruesome day here in the city. First the massacre at the local university on Friday night, then we had a body go missing from the morgue on Saturday morning. And now, that body has been found in an alley only blocks away from the morgue.” The reporter looks as though she’s going to be sick, “Oh, this is a horrible day. I can’t go on, turn the camera off.” She turns away as tears fill her eyes.

“Well,” his voice says from the recliner, “It looks like you got her in the worst fashion possible.”

“Yes.” I reply, “And I loved her.”

He rises from his comfortable seat and walks to me, giving me a fatherly look, “Rin, you’ll be fine. Now, can I have my knife back?”

Speechless

It slipped Chuck's mind to do 'Flash Fiction Friday' last week. So, I thought to have a go at doing one myself. This week, I'm not well. I have Laryngitis... yep, I can't talk to anyone for a while and have a nagging cough to boot! So here's a story based on my illness. 

enjoy.

“I’m afraid to say, but you have Laryngitis – it’s a slight case – but I don’t want you talking to anyone or leaving your house for anything for the next three days.” The gruff-looking doctor said as he typed on the keyboard.

I couldn’t believe it.

After going to the class reunion, I thought my ticklish throat wasn’t anything to worry about – but waking up without a voice yesterday was horrible. Mum was worried sick about me; and urged me to head off to the doctors today.

So, there I had it, I wasn’t allowed to be anywhere near people, not allowed to talk and so there goes my singing career in my shower. My life is going to become very quiet if I can’t answer the phone; which gives screening my calls a whole new meaning (yeah, I screen them for telemarketers – but then, I’ll have to get onto Facebook and tell my friends that I’ve lost my voice – again! – and to either text me or talk to me on messenger on Facebook… thank the Gods for that invention, right?).

I arrive home, follow my doctor’s orders and don’t talk to anyone. But the cough it horrible… I sound dreadful. It’s just the irritation of the virus that’s attacking my vocal cords; and it feels horrible. So, I make myself some nice Green Tea and settle in with a book for the afternoon… yep, this is a good time to catch up with my reading.

After I’ve made dinner, baked up the best batch of scones I’ve ever made in my life (why is it that this happens only when I’m sick), whipped some fresh cream up with a whisk and settled in to watch a movie, I hear a noise outside that doesn’t sound like a possum.

Out of habit I pick up the phone. Exactly what am I going to do with that? I’m not allowed to speak – not that I can get any sound out anyway. So, putting down the phone, I picked up the waterproof torch and my mobile and sussed out what was going on.

I didn’t need the torch, I could see from the darkness of my front door that somebody was trying to break into a car in the parking lot. Opening my phone, I called the police and waited for them to answer just as I turned the torch onto the would-be burglar.

At the soft sound of somebody talking, the man turned around, “Who the fuck are you?” he blurted holding a metal bar in his right hand.

I stepped back, shining the torch in his face and the phone down by my side, facing out, so the police could hear him.

“What? You stupid?”

I shook my head.

“You’re not talkin’ so you must be.” He snorted.

The phone said something and I heard it hang up. Damn. They probably didn’t hear anything going on. I hesitated just before I turned and ran from him towards my house,  pulled the door closed (locking myself out) and kept on running along the darkened unit complex.

“Come here you bitch!” he shouted, his footsteps approaching from behind.

I still had the torch on and I used it like a baton, swinging it up and down, shining it everywhere to get people’s attention – but the shit thing was that nobody came out of their houses.

I redialed the police, this time I’d talk to them.

“Hello, fire, police, ambulance? Which one do you need?”

My voice was almost non-existent as I ran and cold night air invaded my lungs, “Police. Hurry!”

“Okay, just a moment.”

“Don’t have a moment…” I said, “Don’t have a voice.”

“Okay…” I heard him say and another took over, “Logan Police, how can I help you?”

“Being chased. Kingston Road. Inside unit complex… near fire station next to Puma. Hurry! I’m scared!” I panted then started to cough as I came to the pedestrian gate and dropped the torch to press the button to get out. But…

…as I turned, he was there…

…blocking it!

“Whodja call?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“Why don’t you speak?”

A coughing fit caught me and I curled up on my side, sitting on the ground. Still I shook my head.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!”

I found ‘Notebooks’ on my apps on my phone, pulled up a new page and wrote ‘Laryngitis’ on it, ‘Can’t talk’

He smiled, “Well, then, you wouldn’t have been able to call the cops then?” he raised his arm with the bar, ready to strike me hard.

I shook my head as tears welled in my eyes; my gut turning cool… I felt sick at the idea of what he was going to do to me.

Behind him, one of the tenants from unit 1 came out slowly from her car port and placed metal object on concrete to let a car in. As the car came in, two people walked in after it… these two people walked straight up behind the man and grabbed him, “Drop it!”

“She would never have said anything! Not after I’d beaten her.”

The cop shook his head, “Dude, you’re the one who’s sick – and I mean in the head.”

Blind Target

Chuck has us starting this week's story with a knock at the door. It took me a bit to sort out how to get my story onto the screen - I knew what I wanted to write; but the way it was getting there was going to be difficult. 

Enjoy.

It didn’t take long for Lisa to get to the door, “I’m coming! Hang on!” she walked up to it with confidence – even though she hated receiving visitors – and opened it as much as the chain would allow, “Hello?”

“Hello Miss, we were wondering if you were interested in having a Foxtel connection?” a young man said.

“No thank you, I can’t afford that.” She said and closed the door, sliding the deadbolt across. She stood there for a moment, relieved she didn’t have to talk to them too long; yes, she knew there was another one there.

“Fuckin’ bitch didn’t let me say much.” The first one who spoke said.

“Hey, some of them are like that. They know what they want in life and Foxtel television isn’t part of their lives.” The other said, “Let’s just move onto the next person.” They moved away, but not before the second person commented, “And if you’re going to take everything personally, you’re not the person for this job.”

A few days later, something bashed onto her front door and Lisa’s dog barked, but Thunder didn’t leave her side until she urged him to stand up and check it out with her.

It was brick.

Puzzled, she picked it up and threw it to one side; out of the way of the path; meanwhile, Thunder stood in the doorway of the house.

From across the road, the young man who had knocked on Lisa’s door trying to get her to buy Foxtel – and took it personally – was watching. He noticed something strange about her: she didn’t watch where she threw the brick and she was slow going back into the house.

“She’s blind.”

“So, how has your week been, sis?” Courtney asked as she unpacked the groceries on the counter of Lisa’s kitchen.

“Not bad.” She smiled, “We had Foxtel people come around and try to push it onto me and the neighbours.”

Mark cleared his throat from the kitchen table, “Are you sure?”

“Yes… oh… that’s right, you work for that company.”

“We’re not door-knocking anymore around here. That stopped six months ago.” He replied, “I’ll call the police and let them know.” And walked into the hall to use his mobile.

“Thank you. When you lose your sight, you lose track of time.” She said.

“And what’s that brick next to your door?” Courtney asked.

“Somebody threw it at my door the other day.” She said, “Thunder barked but I think it was because the sound scared him more than anything else. But when I tossed it to one side, he was really alert in the doorway.”

Mark came back into the room, “Yeah, they’ve had six or seven break-ins around here in the last week – all people who have disabilities and all people who said no to the Foxtel connection.” He sighed, giving his wife a concerned look, then looked over at his sister-in-law, “Lisa, I don’t want you staying here on your own anymore.”

“Hey, the car accident wasn’t my fault… I can do a lot of things on my own.” She smiled, “And I still have my gun.”

“Which anyone can use against you.” He said.

Courtney hissed, “Mark.”

“My fire arm could easily have been used against me when I was a cop. What’s the difference now?” Lisa asked.

“You can’t see your target.”

“We’ll see about that.”

A week past before Thunder woke Lisa in the middle of the night, whimpering that something was going on. The last time this happened, he had caught a burglar picking the back door lock and all she did was turn on the back light… the dude had left his lock pick in the lock when he took off. Lisa thought that was hilarious.

But this time, it was more urgent.

This time, Thunder had started to jump onto the bed and she knew she needed her gun.

She grabbed it as she climbed out, slipped her feet into her loafers and felt the chill of the air around her as she walked quickly and quietly to the door. Thunder stayed by her side – being an ex-police dog who had become her guide dog, he knew to stick by her when they were working; and to him, this was them working.

A smash and tinkle of glass was heard from downstairs… footsteps crushing the glass after they unlocked the door, snapped the two chains she had on it…

…Lisa breathed slowly waiting for them at the top of the stairs in the darkened corner where they couldn’t see her.

Thunder’s warm body by her leg was comforting to her – more now than ever because he was her eyes – and she could feel his body tense; thus showing they were going to come upstairs.

She readied herself for an attack as the scent of the cheap cologne from the young man invaded her nose before he was up the stairs.

Thunder growled.

Lisa took aim right in front of her and pulled the trigger.

She heard the exhale of air and his body collapse down the stairs. But she couldn’t relax yet… because Thunder was still tense.

There was another one in the house.

“Where are you! I know you’re here… no use in hiding. I’m a cop and so is my dog!” she shouted.

“Aaaww, crap, lady… you’re blind…”

“Stay where you are!” another familiar voice shouted, “Put your gun down! On your knees! Don’t move!”

“Thunder stay.” She said grabbing his collar as she slid into the corner of the wall next to him, “Good boy… we’re a good pair.” He turned and licked her cheek, “I love you too, you big softy.”

“Is anyone here?” a voice called up the stairs.

“Yeah! My name is Lisa. I’m an ex-cop.”

“Lisa Battley? Man, I heard about you and Thunder. That was no accident. Somebody wanted you out of the way.” He knelt down, “Good shot you took there.”

“Thanks.” She smiled, “And these two bozo’s?”

“They came back to finish the job.”

“So, what now? Seeing I’m not out of the woods with this really?”

“Protective custody.” He replied.

“Oh… yay. If being blind isn’t bad enough.”

The Tattoo

This week, Chuck has us writing about maps... now this could be any type of map on the face of the planet. Mine? Well, mine is interesting to say the least. 

enjoy!

She awoke in the hospital bed with tubes running in and out of everywhere and panicked! The machines near her bed began to beep loudly and nursing staff rushed in as they pressed buttons and watched her carefully.

“Mary, it’s okay.” One said to her – even though that wasn’t her name, “We’ll just remove this tube from her throat. Now, take a deep breath and cough as you breathe out.”

The last of the tubes were removed and there was just a cannula in her right hand for hydration. She hadn’t said anything to anyone because her throat hurt like hell; even the exercises they gave her had hurt her throat too much. The food in front of her was all mushed up and she didn’t really feel like eating; just the smell of it was off-putting, so she pushed it around the plate until it went cold and the nurse came in and noticed she hadn’t eaten anything.

“Not hungry? Well, I’m not surprised.” She moved the table on wheels away from her, “But I know your name isn’t Mary either. It’s a name we give people who come in without any identification; it used to be Joan, but here we don’t like that name – in case you die. It’s rather depressing and offputting. So Mary is more positive.” She took the tray away and left her alone.

Days passed and Mary was in the day room looking out at the rain while the television blared some soap opera to the people in their wheelchairs and the other visitors.

Mary never received visitors; and the hospital wondered why.

But Mary spent her days looking out at the rainy days which turned into clear nights when she slept – something the nursing staff noticed just recently. But seeing nobody came to visit her, nobody knew who she was and she didn’t know what had happened to her, she was kept at the hospital until she was well enough to be on her own.

The halfway house wasn’t exactly something she pictured herself in, but it was a good enough place. There was a man who ran it, a curfew at night and she could lock her door. He watched her as she walked in with a tiny suitcase and the clothes she wore and that was it.

“You don’t own anything else?” he grunted as the stale stench of cigars permeated the room by the front door.

“No.” she whispered.

He looked outside, “Dammit, it’s pouring and it was sunny before.”

She glanced out the window, “I’m sorry.”

“Woman, it’s not your fault.” He handed her a key, a set of rules which were photocopied and grabbed her suitcase, opened it and looked through it, closed it up and handed it back, “Sorry, have to make sure you don’t have any weapons.”

She took it off him, “Where’s my room?”

“Top floor. I gave you a room where you don’t have share seeing you don’t have a criminal record, the hospital didn’t think it fair you have to share with ex-cons.” He sighed as she ascended the stairs and the hospital administrator stood there with the man, “Mary, eh? A weird name for some chick you’ve never seen before. And no last name?”

“No… but she does have this.” He handed him a print of a photo, “It’s a tattoo on her back… we can’t make heads or tails of it.”

The man looked at it, frowned, turned it around and around, “Which way is up?”

“We don’t know.” He said, “Thought you being an ex-cop you’d know some people who knew what’s going on.”

Her room was on the third floor, at the end of the hall. It wasn’t a big room – but then, she didn’t need a lot of space. Tall windows overlooked the small town she had landed in six weeks before with no memory. Mary… “No, not that.” She closed the door and put away the small collection of clothes the Salvation Army had given her in the wardrobe, “My name isn’t Mary… it’s not the name of His mother.” She looked out as the street lights came on and she pulled up the large window, leaned out and let the rain fall onto her face. However, instead of wetting her skin and hair, the water from the skies energized her, causing the tattoo on her back to begin to illuminate a bright white and her wings to unfurl from her shoulders; their brilliant light filled the room.

“What in almighty God are you!?” the man’s voice shouted through the light.

She turned from the window, from the rain, realising now she forgotten to lock the door to her room, “My name is not Mary.”

“Well, no shit Sherlock!” he shaded his eyes from her brilliance, “What is that tattoo on your back?”

“It is my mark; it is to remind me who I am.” She said as the wings folded away behind her shoulders and the light disappeared, making the room dark again, “I am a messenger of the Lord; and I am on the run.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

She smiled, “I escaped from prison up there, and I’m a wanted criminal… but with this mark on my back, it’s going to be hard to hide – especially seeing I cause it to rain wherever I go.”

“What is that mark?” he asked.

“It’s a map.”

He rolled his eyes, “Of what?”

She looked at him as though the answer was obvious, “Of Heaven.”

Wiz Bang Love!

Chuck's prompt this week is interestingly hard... I had to think about it. 'It starts with a Bang!' There's so many different types, styles and ways a Bang happens... and this is my interpretation of it.

Our fingers touched as we sat on the lounge the Sports Channel showed the boxing and I noticed one of them was a leftie, saying he’d win… and BANG!... the emotions, the feelings we’ve had for each other over the last decade – since the last we dated (tried to date) came rushing back like a tidal wave.

It was intense… 

...we could feel it fill the huge living room as our shoulders moved toward each other and our palms pressed hard… 

...the warmth of his hand in mine – wonderful it finally felt to know he likes being this close to me.

His brown eyes connected with mine and he smiled, “Hey…”

“Hey you…” I smiled back leaning my forehead against his, his right hand touching my cheek softly, gently… oh… I’ll never forget that first caress of this man I’ve admired from afar and yet didn’t have the courage to approach – to tell him I really, totally, absolutely…

He tipped my chin up with his fingertips and…

We were out of breath…

Our emotions finally being realised about each other… our unrequited love…

The boxing had finished and there was a fishing show on. The left-handed boxer had won all four rounds; just like I said he would. But the Sports Channel is just a noise in the background as we…

… stare at each other on the lounge… holding each other close, not wanting this moment – this day, this afternoon – to finish.

My phone rang. I ignored its distant annoying Queen song (‘It’s A Kinda Magic’) in my bag right next to me… as the world of his living room and his rental house vanished and our little universe that was us – the one that began with a BIG BANG of its very own – was all that existed… for now. He watched me as my phone dinged that a text came through (which I ignored as well), “We’ve known each other for how long?”

I smiled, “Over a decade.”

He smiled too, as though what I did was contagious, “Yeah, and whenever we tried to get together… it was never the right time.” We untangled ourselves from each other and he played with my hands – my nails being a fascination to him as he glanced over, “Oh, fuck it, let’s date. If we wait too long…”

I smiled, “…we’ll be two old farts in a nursing home not knowing who’s who and wishing we’d done this sooner when we do know each other.”

He laughed kissing my right hand, “Yeah!”

The sun was bright when he finally walked me to my car… yes, mid-afternoon.

I had arrived in the morning…

I had opened the car door, tossed my jacket and handbag into the passenger side and pushed the keys into the ignition, then turned to see him smiling, “What?”

“Nothin’.” He pulled me close, kissed me gently, softly again, “You’re beautiful.”

I didn’t know what to say, so said nothing except pulled him closer, “You’re handsome.”

“Oh come on…”

I looked up at him, “I mean it.”

He smiled again, leaned down and kissed me more.

Wiz Bang! I’m in love! 

Draku's Bloodline

Chuck's little boy is turning 5... and so he's chosen some things his kid has said to get us to use in our stories. Man, his boy has some weird things to say... but I like them. I chose: 'They said it was legend, but I know it's real.

enjoy!


I made sure the heat lamp wasn’t too hot on the shell as I pulled the curtain to my bedroom window and curled up next to the large egg on my bed.

Sleeping has been difficult over the past month because I’ve been sharing my bedroom with a large egg.

It’s not mine – as if a Human can lay an egg! I found it a few streets away and brought it home and tried to find out exactly what it was.

From all my sources and research through my books, it’s a Fire Drake egg.

They said it was legend, but I know it’s real.

‘They’ are anyone I’ve tried to tell – and yes, this includes you as you’re sitting there trying to figure out if I’m out of my mind or smoking too much weed (and by the way, I don’t smoke that crap).

I’m also trying to hide this puppy from anyone who wants to get their hands on it – ie: the Government – because all they’re going to do is experiment on the thing before it hatches. And once it does, they’ll end up killing it then chopping it up into itty-bitty pieces to see where it came from.

I don’t want that… and I’m sure you don’t either.

I’m writing this as a document to prove that we have other life on this planet besides the self-centered idiots called Humans. We have life here nobody can comprehend. We have life here which has been here well before us – and will be here well after we’re gone. We’ll have …

He’s not very big – about the size of a small computer monitor – but truthfully, I don’t know what breed he is. I do have books on Fire Drakes and am not sure what size he’s going to grow to.

As soon as he hatched the other night, he saw me and called me ‘Mamau’ which is Welsh for Mother. At least I know what region he’s from. I started teaching him English so he knew what I was saying and he could tell me what he wanted.

It’s been two weeks of intensive training and work with Draku. He’s been working well with me, but I have had to move us out into the countryside so he could learn to fly without running into other buildings. This means, I have to drive my van – and this terrified him at first. But then, when I found a place where there was a good cave for him, he was okay with me hanging around. He totally enjoyed learning from me and loved being with me. I was his Mother, his teacher, his everything – for now.

I know there will be a time when he’ll fly away for the day and not come back that night… when he’ll just keep flying to find somebody like himself to mate with. But truthfully, I don’t know if there is another like him in the world; and this is the problem.

Draku has been missing for almost a week.

I’m worried somebody has caught him… I hope not.

I’ll stick around camp and see how I go.

The sun is going down and I’ve just lit the fire again … I hear wings!

But Draku isn’t alone! I hear cars… choppers… other humans! They’re yahooing and screaming…

“Oh shit!” I pull out my firearms and arm myself as quickly as possible, but Draku has pulled up in front of the camp with his back to me. His wings are flare open, showing their gorgeous purple skin stretched across their huge arms like bat skin. He pulls in a lungful of cold night air and bellows out bright fire from his mouth and nose, burning to the ground the people who were invading on our camp grounds. As he raised his head up, to shoot a snort of flame at the chopper, a shot rings out!

I race out into the darkness, climbing the rocks and boulders which reflected the fire I had built to keep me warm tonight, only to have to watch my Fire Drake collapse.

His aim was impeccable! He had gotten the chopper after they shot at him, but…

I jumped down to his large form… yes my Draku had grown so much over the last month or so I hadn’t noticed that he was no long tiny – not until now.

“Draku.” I clambered over his beautiful form, him on his side breathing shallow breaths as I searched for where he had been hit… and when I found where his violet blood was oozing out faster than it should, tears pricked my eyes, blurring my vision, “No.” my voice cracked, “Not my baby boy…”

“Mamau… you love Draku much.”

“Yes. I love you.”

“Let me go.”

“I brought you out here to let you fly…”

“Too many here to be truly free.” He said.

I applied pressure on his fatal wound and he groaned as his gorgeous iridescent eyes filled with tears and his free wing wrapped around my shoulders gently, “No, leave me, Mamau.”

With his blood colouring my hands, I tried to not cry in front of my sweet boy… my Fire Drake, “What do I do with you?”

“Burn… me…” His eyes glistened, “First, drink my blood. Will keep me within you forever.”

I will never forget my Draku.

His kind is gone but not dead.

People think Fire Drakes are of legend, but I know they are real.

I have Draku’s blood running through my veins… thus I will never age, I will no longer have any medical problems and my blood is no longer red… my blood runs purple just like Draku’s.

Draku accepted me as his own; and now I must find others like me – but that’s if there are others who have survived like him.

My Bloody Valentine

This week, Chuck has us clicking on a link where it gives us a his and hers option and whacks it together! A great thing! I love that! I got: 'He's a lonely Opera Singer who believes he can never love again... She's a devious Barbarian with the fear of the uknown.' And well, this is what I came up with. The theatre stuff, well, I used to work in a local theatre near my house... and like most theatres, The Butterbox Theatre is haunted.

Enjoy!

Charles was depressed. He knew he was while he brushed on the translucent powder over his face to prevent him from sweating under the hot lights of the theatre.

A knock sounded at the door: “Two minutes!”

“Yep!” he called back. She had broken – shattered – his heart and he knew he’d never find love again. And yet, he had to work with her on the stage for the next three months.

The bitch!

Charles rose from his mirror, pulled the paper from around his collar and switched off the lights. It was time to get his ass to the Stage Manager’s side – where he was first to walk onto the stage to begin his singing.

Charles Montgomery was an Opera Singer.

As soon as he stepped out onto that stage, with the people surrounding him… the music rising up from the pit in front of him as though from the dungeons of Hell itself, conducted by Lucifer himself… as the little man at the dais stood just in front of the audience demanding his orchestra to pay attention and to keep up, work their asses off and play their best every single night… and he turned to Bethany herself as he held her fingertips gently in his hand as they had rehearsed so many times and they sang! Oh, they sang with such harmony – in harmony – that the audience who sat enthralled every night wouldn’t know that they despised each other in real life.

She had cheated on him with one of the extras within weeks of the tour of Australia and then, once they left Melbourne (which was a three month tour there), and his Sydney, Bethany had moved onto another ‘dude’ as though nothing really mattered to her – as though the two year relationship they had shared meant …

Charles was going to propose to Bethany at the closing night in New York City at the after-party. She didn’t know this – but he had planned it and everything.

The slut!

Act Three was almost finished and they stood side by side, not touching each other. He despised being in her presence, and wished she had been sacked for being such a whore; but beggers can’t be choosers. The make-up woman came up and checked his face to make sure he hadn’t removed any of it from scratching his nose or forehead, then his hair was checked as well just as the doors were closed and the lights in the house were turned down for them to start.

At the last minute, the props guy came around, “Charles, I found another dagger online. It’s better-looking than the plastic one you’ve been using.”

“Okay.” He said swapping over the crappy-looking dagger for the gorgeously jeweled one, “Thanks Harry.”

As the music began, they stepped out into the light and began to sing. It was then, he saw her… the most beautiful woman he’d laid eyes on since Bethany. She sat in the middle of the third row. She was dressed so differently from everyone else and watched every single thing he did – which was the biggest turn-on for him.

By Act Four, Charles’ and Bethany played their parts right through to the bitter ending; where his character stabs Bethany’s and she staggers off the stage. As soon as she’s gone, the curtain falls as the music crescendos and a scream cuts the air.

This happens but … the scream seems a little too real and Charles turned to stage left to see Bethany fall as she spat out blood holding her stomach.

“Oh my god.” He said loud enough that Lucifer heard it.

“What?” he whispered up to him, but it’s too late as Charles raced off the stage before the curtain falls – before the creation of the what was supposed to happen did.

Security surrounded Bethany and pushed him off to one side as he watched her face and witness the one thing he had hoped he would never hope he’d ever see: the light of somebody’s life leave their eyes. Before long, his agent grabbed him, walking him to his dressing room, closing the door against anyone of the media.

As they turn around, the woman from the third row is in there, “I noticed you.”

“You’re not supposed to be in here.” His agent said, “Get out.”

“Charles Montgomery? Your dagger from the other performances was replaced just before this one, wasn’t it?” she said.

He looked up, “Yes.”

She looked around his room, “Normally, they’d return props to the dressing rooms when they swap them over, but the old dagger wasn’t returned here.”

His agent looked around quickly, “Well, Harry takes care of the props. If he thought it was right to replace it, he would have taken the old one back to storage.”

“But tonight is the last night for Sydney… it would have come back to my room to be packed away with my costume.” Charles said, “Which means that Harry either gave me a stage dagger which was faulty or he gave me a … oh… god… a real dagger.”

She sat in his chair at the dressing table, “We must find the other dagger to prove you’re innocent.”

His agent looked over at her, “She was asking for it… she was being a whore.”

“Don’t say that about her. Bethany was hurting… but we had to work together; and that’s something.” Charles said, “She broke my heart, and I’m still honouring my contract.”

“I guess.” He shrugged, “The police still have to talk to you.”

Dawn was breaking when the police had been and gone – after they talked to everyone. The woman stood there outside the stage door waiting for Charles, not knowing whether to stick around or to delve into the unknown world of the heart. She almost turned to leave when the door opened and Charles stepped out into the early morning coolness and looked at her.

“Hi.” She blushed, “I don’t know why I’m here. I’m terrified of commitment, of the unknown of what might be.”

“And yet, I think the knife was yours to begin with.” He walked to her.

“How did you know?”

He gestured to her calf scabbard, “You’re missing some equipment.”

Looking down, she shrugged, “How do you know I didn’t sell it?”

“But you did… online to Harry.”

She smiled, “I’m Bethany’s cousin… never liked her. And our clan had a mark on her for the last few years. It’s taken three of us to track her and I made sure to get the right knife to kill her.” She looked to her hands, “But now my work is done, there’s no future for me… not unless I make one – which is kind of scary.”

He put out his hand, “Let’s make a future together. I never thought I’d find another like Bethany in my life – and you’re scared to take a leap into the unknown magic of life itself.” He smiled, “I think we can help each other.” The door of the taxi opened that had been waiting for Charles and he let her in first. They knew they were just at the beginning; of what? Well, neither of them knew just yet.